


Intellectual Study

by Ebony_Prodigy



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: (AU), Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Humor, Rating subject to change, Romance, Violence, WIP, Will Add More Later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebony_Prodigy/pseuds/Ebony_Prodigy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Eva has done remarkable in her courses yet the stress of constantly studying has left her with the need to get out and do something fun. After a few hours of enjoying herself things take a stumbling turn, winding her into the hands of a prominent member of the university. One-shot? M rating later on? SpardaxEva</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Labor Day Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or any of its characters, nor is any money being made off of this.
> 
> So... I really was going to make this a Vergil/Lucia fic because...???????????fan-dork reasons, but it morphed on its own as a Sparda/Eva fic so...enjoy. I'll probably do something with them later on :D
> 
> I'll put this as AU since there's practically nothing on Dante and Vergil's parents, more so Eva than Sparda. Oh well. As usual some will see it as OOC because there's nothing to go on about Eva so read at your own risk :D.

Eva spent the majority of Labor Day weekend cramming for exams, cooped up in her room to study in intricate detail on her upcoming History test. It got to the point where she couldn't absorb another cause of war or land expansion, Carolina blue irises straining to focus on another black-printed word. Her brain took the reigns of all notions of studying, deciding it was time for a well-deserved break.

Most of the students on campus made the most of their brief vacation. Exams or not, the holiday visited and they celebrated like no tomorrow.

Eva wanted in on the fun and excitement. Her mind had wrapped around ideologies of rulers and mathematical concepts, acing her tests with flying colors and she needed to feel rewarded. Calls reached out to her friends to dance the night away, but they had plans.

Nevan participated in an animal rights activist party preaching the conservation of bats. They were killed off as sport with the crossbow, then mounted like trophies. The red-head body-painted her skin green for the cause.

Matier volunteered in community work along with her toddler Lucia, rebuilding her neighborhood after a fire nearly scorched the building beyond salvage.

Kalina Ann busied herself with falling under the spell of her new beau, spending her free time with him and abandoning her girlfriends. Eva couldn't place her finger on it, but something about that bald creep rubbed her the wrong way.

No one else she called picked up, her ears meeting with voice mails and answering machines.

“I better just call it a night,” she moped, hearing the bustle of loud laughter outside her window. Staying in seemed like a good idea, gaining rest to arrive in her classes with a sound mind but she needed to do _something_.

Deciding to follow her gut she hopped in the shower, soaping up with strawberry-scented body wash. After feeling refreshed she plowed through her closet, spending nearly half an hour on what to wear.

A skin-hugging black sheath dress fit snug over her figure, complemented by red studs, a matching cinch belt, and heels. Today her hair flowed in long loose curls from its kept ponytail, Nevan approving of her flowy waves than its professional appearance when she went out for special events.

Life swung in full force on her way to Capulet Station. The orange-red streaks in the sky marinated the streets in a soothing hue, adding to the calm yet bustling ambiance. Businesses, bakeries, and clothing stores attracted customers to their offers. The old and young blended together, filling the shopping venues with the chatter of products too cheap or expensive to buy.

The train platform bustled just as lively, a bit too much for her tastes but people had the intent to enjoy their weekend.

Fellow students traveled to visit their parents. Collective groups of friends made plans to go eat at restaurants. Lovers embraced in lascivious gestures, determined to enjoy each other before their studies controlled their free time.

One guy in particular wanted to enjoy _her_ , annoying her with cheesy pick-up lines but she cared less to entertain his efforts, his wild, hungry blue eyes undressing her.

They boarded the streamlined caravan, dodging as needed with the passing plethora of human traffic. The man kept on with his over-confident charm, to which Eva maneuvered around the crowd to lose him in the mob of passengers. Thanks in part to the crowded train he couldn't immediately come into direct contact, shoving through people with impatient haste. His enthusiasm irked her, Eva hopping off the train at the next stop with the man following in her gait, desperate to gain her digits.

Her lengthy heels clacked on the platform, walking towards the stairs with his dragged feet echoing behind her. At the last minute, she sprinted onto the hissing convoy, the doors closing on the man as he banged on the window, face scrunched up in anger. Elated to be rid of such a bothersome fool she flipped her hair back, taking to staring out the glass instead of the hardened and humored eyes of the patrons aboard.

Soon her real exit came, the classic and bright lights illuminating the metropolis of Capulet City. _Devil May Cry stood_ as a club she loved to frequent because of its eclectic, wooden design.

Homey but expansive described this establishment's insides. Deep mahogany oak lined the walls, emitting this dark yet soothing natural smell. Beige carpeted steps led to a wide dance floor. Surrounding the space where writhing bodies met, burgundy-brown leather couches complemented wooden tables. A polished bar hosting an eclectic mix of drinks drew the club-goers to its location – and Eva as well.

The place was packed, her eyes soaking in the atmosphere, managing not to bump into anyone with their uneven balance. Upon reaching the bar, a woman she had some classes with greeted her, lips turning upwards and her face brightening.

“Well, look at you darling,” burnt-orange lipstick shined on curvy lips, luminous dark skin glowed behind the counter. Gloria's white bob mimicked the pink and yellow lights of the establishment's name above the bar, “Coming in here with that soft hair and tight dress. You have a date?”

“You're one to talk about tight dresses, Miss Thing.” It stood true though. Wearing a white V-neck mini dress with an open front down to her navel, Eva didn't know how Gloria moved without her breasts falling out, especially serving customers in quick succession. The orange crisscross string in the front wouldn't keep those fleshy mounds covered in place.

“Bigger tips are always a bonus,” Gloria laughed. “So, are you meeting somebody?”

“Oh no, I just had to get away from the books. I think they were going to eat me alive.”

“Professor Baul's test,” she rolled her eyes in understanding, “That can make anyone crazy.”

“Yes, and please don't remind me about anything concerning that man's class. I can still see him scowling the whole time he's lecturing.”

“Well, you found the right place to unwind. What will you have?”

“Um, a Long Island Iced Tea with strawberries.”

“Coming right up.”

Eva tuned into her surroundings, a rock-blues band creating a hypnotic setting to ease the patrons into a jovial mood. Women in skimpy clothing thrusted their pelvises against half-drunken men. Members from the university's most popular sororities challenged each other with tequila shots. Vapors from strong liquors danced around her nose, reminding herself to keep her wits about her.

The blonde came here with the purpose of relaxing from her studies, planning to sit down and listen to the music, even if her company included a lonesome number. She practiced control and restraint, a concept people threw away without a second thought tonight. She had no desire to lower _all_ her inhibitions, just enough to reward herself a break from her mounting homework.

By the time the band started its third set, she saw double vision.

A few of her classmates gathered at the bar, ordering more drinks to aid in their brief vacation. With comedic gestures and loose speeches they convinced her to sit with them, venting their frustrations about certain teachers and their fellow peers in scathing detail.

Eva only provided insight to a few of her courses, knowing better to keep her opinions inside herself on certain issues and people at school. People had no trouble climbing over each other in the name of jealousy over how smart or rich a student was. Still, it felt nice to socialize on common topics.

When many left to dry-hump each other or gorge on alcohol, an expanded bubble in her lower stomach led her feet to the ladies' room, adamant to output some of the input she ingested. High-heels tripped over themselves, her momentum falling forward to have her face kiss the ground.

Eva sensed thick strong hands on her toned waist, realizing they were the only things holding her up. A heated filling originated from the touch, goosebumps skimming up her spine to clear her hazy conscious. She swiveled around to express her gratitude to the gentleman who prevented her from making an ass of herself.

Much to her surprise, it was the dean of the History department―Dean Sparda.

She'd recognize those handsome features and white, slicked back hair anywhere. Heat flushed under the area of her eyes, blinking to keep the embarrassment of her actions from showing. Long blonde locks shielded her face, hoping the dimmed lights overhead would keep her profile unrecognizable.

With her head lowered she brushed past him and mouthed, “Thanks!” seeking the sanctuary of the restroom.

Once inside women polluted every corner, smothering the air with pleasant and pungent odors. Dark mascara decorated thick eyelashes as women re-applied the black liquid in the mirror.

Conversations drowned out the echoing bass of the drums, colorful terms used to describe the males physically attractive to beady eyes.

All the commotion inside the ladies' room fell on her deaf ears, Eva drowning out the noise as her bladder swelled beyond comfort.

Six stalls lined the walls, the blonde losing confidence of her ability to hold it in when so many females needed to go. Her mind debated on sneaking in the men's room across the hall. If fifty or so ladies had to use the bathroom, then only two or three men used the men's room.

_Half of them don't even wash their hands_.

Withal, the idea seemed more appealing the longer she stood there, shifting her weight from leg to leg trying to prevent an accident.

“Girl, are you doing some ceremonial dance? Go ahead in front of me. I have to go, but not that bad,” a kind woman said, offering a knowing smile.

Eva giggled and gave her thanks, slipping into the stall. Once inside she _wished_ she used one of the men's stalls instead. Urine covered the seat, on the floor, and even the wall from drunken women who had missed their bull's-eye when they tried to squat.

With a tentative knock to the wall left of her she asked for toilet tissue, forgetting to check the necessity prior to squatting to pee. “Um, I'm sorry but can you please spare some tissue?”

She knew a woman occupied the stall, seeing pale, corn-infested toes in gold-toned shoes a size too small. And the mystery woman chose the correct time to drop pings of waste into the toilet, adding an unnaturally odorous funk to the foul smell wafting in the bathroom. Contrary to what many may think, females' shit can stink as horrid as any man.

The lady handed Eva a roll of tissue under the ceramic wall, compelling to issue another “Thank you!”

When she finished in the ladies' room, she glimpsed around the corner to see if the dean remained close by. Carolina blues scanned her vicinity, combing through the mass of entangled bodies. A tickled picture entered her mind, searching for Sparda amidst all the people like a _Where's Waldo_ puzzle.

Sparda had left, the stomach-drop feeling she had lessening, Eva deciding to haul ass and leave before he spotted her again and figured out her identity. The blonde wasn't doing anything illegal nor breaking any rules, but she didn't want him to have that impression of her―as a drunkard. Suddenly, she felt like a child in trouble after sneaking sweets, wanting to go home and study to compensate for her behavior.

Soft, breezy air ghosted over her skin when she stepped outside, slightly rousing her to a more alert disposition―or so she thought. When her head lessened its foggy outlook her legs moved forward in slow steps, mindful to walk in careful strides to regain her bearings en route to the train.

_Dammit, how many drinks did I have_?

“Have a good evening, Miss Redgrave.”

Red heels froze, feeling a blazing spike shoot through her body as the deep voice echoed off to her back. It wasn’t an English dialect per se, but it sounded very cultured.

Shit.

“Hello Dean Sparda. I didn't think you knew who I was in there,” she smiled, nervous as all shit when she faced him. The dean leaned against a crimson 1969 COPO Camaro, shining with a dark luster in the night sky.

Long legs walked towards her, half his body veiled in the shadows, yet his eyes pierced into her with bright intensity. It never occurred to her before, but he carried this haunted essence under the mixture of moonlight and streetlamps, aided by the uncommon hair color on his youthful appearance.

It passed as a fleeting thought, she realized. She didn't give it too much credence because telling her dean of the history department of his demonic presence didn't leave the confines of her brain.

Before she could gain a hold on her swirling thoughts he stood next to her, seemingly towering over her form. Now, Eva took pride in her height, a statuesque 5'9, but Sparda made her feel an even 5'.

“Of course I know who you are, Miss Redgrave. I take pride in keeping tabs on all of my students.”

“Neat!” There she was in the middle of the night, curling her toes because her feet suddenly felt on fire. She made it a point to stop biting her lip, opting to stick her tongue into her cheek, making her nervousness worse.

“Are you ready for the exams?”

“I sure hope so. I've been putting hours of studying in and I just needed a break.”

She felt like she spoke to her father, explaining why she'd left the library early in high school to hang out at the mall with friends. The flashbacks didn't need to pool into the mind right now.

“There's no need for an explanation, Miss Redgrave-”

“Oh please, call me Eva.”

“... Eva.” His voice eased the word through his lips, tasting it. “Everyone needs to relax; even history students. Besides, they say cramming is not the solution to good grades anyway.”

“I t-totally agree.” She nodded, recovering from the sudden spike of heat in her belly after hearing him talk. “Either you know it or you don't, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Her heart thudded in her chest at the prolonged silence between them. Music thumped somewhere behind them, Eva keeping her eyes on passing cars and wandering people. His intense stare ignited a sweeping flush to her face, wishing he'd look at something else before she combust.

She wanted to leave but didn't want to be the one to say goodbye in fear of appearing impolite, waiting on him to speak first.

Blue-painted fingernails clasped in the front of her, an unfamiliar sensation spinning in her head, her balance telling her to lean against the wall prior to falling down.

Her eyes touched his, Eva swearing to see a tinge of humor dancing in them. She couldn't blame him though, to him she probably looked like an idiot with crimson heat coating her face, despite the cool air. Finally, she got her wish.

“Well Eva, it's getting late and I have to get going.”

Eva glanced at the watch she didn't have on, realizing her mistake after five seconds then peering unto his twitching lips. Just what the hell did Gloria put into her drink?

Centering herself from her swirling head and mounting embarrassment, she offered a lazy smile in return. “Yeah, it is rather late. You take care, Dean Sparda. I'll see you around campus.”

“Good night.”

“Good night!”

Red heels developed a mind of their own, sending an urgent message to the brain in lieu of sprinting away, yet it occupied a conversation with her arms. It told her to grab onto the wall to steady herself, but the command didn't come through.

Eva couldn't focus on a single object, rapid images of the city's environment swirling through her eyes in a quick blur. Her wit couldn't control her actions, brain spinning in steady confusion to stabilize her thoughts. Her knees gave out from under her, vision darkening with the feel of strong comfort wrapping around her.

* * *

 


	2. Morning Shame

Hazy Carolina blues awakened to a dimmed room, the sun's rays demanding entrance to a bedroom that wasn't her own.

Antique furniture and rich eggplant décor wove together in dark grace, a sense of royal pride springing forth from the environment. The bed she lied in dwarfed her, cooled sheets beckoning her to lie down but she needed to find out where she was.

Her eyes rolled upwards, resting on a large hand-and-a-half bastard sword mounted above the wall, gleaming in prideful splendor on its own with no hint of light. She felt it odd how available it was to reach, lacking any source of protection or covering.

“Well it certainly gives an edge to the room,” she mused in a sleepy tone.

Tiny cold shivers tore through her, images flooding her mind to where she remembered seeing the glorified blade.

The school held a fundraiser for the fencing club a few months prior, where Sparda battled Professor Baul and Professor Modeus with his mesmerizing skill with the sword.

In which she slept in the sword master's bed.

Double shit.

Eva jumped out from the bedding's entanglement, the effects of equilibrium (and last night's drinks) coming back in force, a dizzying nature planting her on the comforter's edge.

Frantic fingers pulled up her dress, checking to make sure her panties covered her private bits. Finding everything as it should be, minus her shoes, a condescending flood washed over her, berating her in response to her classless display of lacking demeanor. She told herself to have no more than two drinks, yet the club's positive atmosphere and homey vibe lowered her inhibitions. Regardless though, this was unprofessional and embarrassing.

Her feet shuffled to the window, pulling back a thick curtain to a window overlooking a wooded scenery, the blue river glazed over by the sun's sparkling sheen.

Eva's shame talked over her conscious, telling her to jump over the balcony and scale down the wall like Spider-Man. But she thought twice about that once she realized how high up she was. It left her no other alternative but to be a woman, face her crude senselessness, and talk to him about it. Hell, beg his forgiveness if need be.

She tip-toed to the door, opening it to come under assault at a delectable smell swimming in her nostrils. Bare feet strolled down a taupe-beige brick floor, white walls adorned with Francis Bacon's surreal concepts. Large bay windows let yellow streaks kiss the floor, odd shadows created jagged lines on the walls. Below the statement paintings, hand-crafted ceramic vases stood on mahogany ornamented hall tables, Eva feeling as if she walked inside a palace.

A double-stair foyer combed through her eyesight, decorated in all its splendor but the dean was missing in action. Her hands quivered, growing warm with nervousness worming its way into her stomach going down the steps. An airy spirit expanded her gut then tripled in its weight, sweaty feet heading down another hall into a large living room.

Black Victorian-era furniture, expensive-looking rugs, a brick and marble fireplace, corner tables, and abstract artwork littered the main room with dark flair. Yet what impressed her the most sat the armory, proud on display with different iterations of firearms.

Revolvers, muskets, automatics, desert eagles, old-styled rifles... they shone with a proud showcase like no other. Her father kept a small collection at home, with Eva spending her Wednesday afternoons asking about them as a curious child.

Carolina Blues fixated on two handguns in the center, one fashioned in silver and the other in black gleamed in a beckoning tease. They held a different style compared to the other weapons, but stood just as beautiful.

“Luce and Ombra,” the blonde murmured the words inscribed on the black gun with her nose nearly upon the glass, eyes twinkling with the armory calling her forth like it had a mystifying magnet attracting her.

Warm fingers touched her shoulder, Eva jumping like she was about to pole vault in the summer Olympics.

Realizing his error he stepped back, face set into a humored and regretful mix. “My apologies, I did not mean to alarm you.” Sparda said, holding a spatula in his hand.

She had to release a steady breath to calm her shaken nerves. “No you didn't alarm me. It wasn't you, I'm just embarrassed about this whole thing.”

“There's no need for that.” He walked past her, heading into the kitchen. “ Things happen. That is a part of life.”

Eva followed him into the white marble and beige Baroque-styled kitchen, her eyes taken aback over its clean and polished appearance... and the fresh layout of cooked food.

“Yeah, but getting so drunk I black out and you bring me to your place? You have to admit, that's a bit much.”

“Well,” Sparda's thick fingers grabbed the spatula, turning over a delicious-smelling pancake... or whatever that light brown thing was in the skillet, “maybe just a little bit.”

The blonde had to look away after he threw her a sideways glance, heat traveling up her cheeks over his devastatingly handsome features. Sure he had the strong jaw line, the slicked back hair, the kissable lips and the built body, yet his eyes are a different story.

From a distance, light silver pools of colorless orbs watched you with easy intensity. Only when he stood a few feet from you could you see the palest shade of blue coating his irises. To some he looked inhuman, an alien even with his penetrating gaze and imposing stature. Yet to Eva, she found him fascinating.

“After all, your situation pales in comparison to the recent downgrade in student etiquette, especially among the senior staff,” he said, a bitter edge tinging his tone.

She had seen it too.

For the past eight months around campus, pupils thought it was fun to plan 'ditch days' and dorm students indulged in alcoholic blackouts, leading to violent assaults escalating in frequent reports. Rumor goes that Professor Wulf and Professor Griffon traded blows with their undergraduates and mishandled women. Dean Sparda spoke out against these atrocities and filed complaints to Chancellor Mundus, yet it seems their conversations morphed into heavy disagreements... of the physical nature—or so she heard.

There was even gossip the History dean wanted to quit.

“I took the liberty of making a small breakfast.”

“Oh no!” Her eyes widened in alarm, shaking her head in denial of his generous offer. “I mean, thank you and that's very kind. I'm sure bringing me here and all that wasn't necessary.”

“Would you rather that I left you out in the middle of the sidewalk so people leaving the club could step over you, or do something worse to you with the ineptitude of the students at the school?” He placed various items on a silver tray, setting it down on the table to the chair closest to her. Scrambled eggs, crepes with strawberry toppings, hash browns, sausage, and a cup of orange juice beckoned to marinate in her taste buds but her appetite dissolved.

His words stung, like physical claws shredding her insides, her heart constricting with leads of disgust and regret filling her veins. However, it was deserving of her to feel as she did. No one told her to drink over her limit and pass out, winding up in her dean's bed. What he said was nothing short of the truth and it bit at her to hear it.

Pale blue orbs saw the downcast look on her face, Eva pretending to stare at the food to disguise the conflicting emotions battling on her profile. Based on their multiple interactions before this has led him to enjoy her witty charm and quicksilver intellect.

Eva remained one of the few people he took pride in informal conversation with. Weaving under heavy alcoholic influence greatly impaired her judgment and it was understandable (given her reason of breaking away from her excellent intellectual studies), however the university's honor rapidly fell towards a bevy of darkness.

He would hate it if anything happened to her. She was a bright individual.

“Please, have some breakfast.”

“I should leave―I can't. You've done enough and I don't know how I can ever repay you.”

“I understand,” he murmured, eyes drilling into hers with unyielding focus. “Though it would cease my nerves if you left here with a full stomach.” His lips quirked on either side, hoping to convince her to eat.

“You always get your way, don't you?” Eva's vision picked up a stack of papers at the other end of the table, a tea cup sitting idly beside them. Was she interrupting his paperwork? Did he feel obligated to stay awake until her saw her off?

A brief chuckle erupted deep in his chest, Eva's resolve melting to shift closer to the chair. After all, he went out of his way to ensure her safety, the least she can do was show her appreciation by taking what he offered.

“I suppose it's a habit, but it is only because I do not want to see the best the school has to offer make a wrong turn.”

He scooted out the chair, gesturing her to take a seat.

That's a little odd. Last night she remembered him stating he watches over “his” students and now... did he give them back to the school or did he have another meaning behind his words?

A soft sigh escaped her lips, sitting down in the offered seat, the savory meal trailing up her nostrils. It took all her will to silence her grumbling stomach, hoping he didn't hear the embarrassing quakes.

Still, it ate her insides to let him go out of his way to make sure she didn't stay on the sidewalk... or let something twice as bad happen.

“It won't happen again. I didn't mean to interrupt your activities,” she half-smiled and shrugged.

“Oh please, it was no bother at all. I was pleased with the distraction,” then added as an afterthought, “I quite enjoyed your... sleeping yet welcomed presence.”

So she did interrupt his night.

“Did I puke?” She spit out before she filtered her words, looking up at him with thinned lips morphing into a grim sneer. Nothing she'll do can redeem herself in his eyes.

“Unfortunately nothing of the sort occurred, you were much too involved in your dreams to do anything... well that and the snoring.” His lips opened to reveal a toothy grin, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

Snoring! Oh, this is beyond repair.

Thankfully the telephone jangled in the other room, Sparda excusing himself, leaving Eva to wallow with a face blotched with crimson specks. Eva wanted to hide her face but knew it wasn't a sound idea. Then again, she _could_ dump the food in the trash can and leave, yet somehow she thought he would track her down and make her finish the breakfast, not that she could ever be that cruel.

It would have no effect however, the aromatic tendrils coiling around her nostrils and its succulent presentation sealed her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hmm, I thought this chapter would be longer? Shorter chapters mean quicker updates, right? Yeah, I'll make the next update much longer :D
> 
> Ah well, thanks to the few notes, mostly on fanfiction(.) net, I'll turn this into a little story. I wish we'd get a Sparda game, I want to see the moves he has to make him so Legendary. Oh, what about a game pre-rebellion, I mean he wouldn't have done nice things in order to be Mundus' general, right?


	3. Disgraced Interruption

“He sure has talked for a while. I know he has to get his day started,” Eva mumbled to herself, setting the tray of empty dishes in the sink.

She didn't believe she ate that fast, but he has been away for a while. Perhaps the savory meal engrossed her to the max to gauge how quickly (or was it slowly) time passed? With a shrug, she walked to where the man left the room, Carolinas skimming to the spread out papers at the other end of the table.

From their appearance, she assumed he read a letter, if the block style and typed letters gave any sign. Her feet, dismissing her consent to find him, paused in front of the paper, speed-reading and briefly focusing on the words 'regret' and 'watch your back' typed in bold font. The letter's tone sounded angry, the author expressing heavy dislike towards something Sparda must have offended them with.

“Mr. Griffon, the poor sport,” a low rumble reached her ears, Eva's body locking up because he caught her snooping over his private matters stepping into the kitchen.

Her breath hovered in her throat, turning around to face the voice's owner with jilted steps. She hadn't a clue where this sneaky behavior came from, but if she stayed here any longer, she might start searching through his whole house!

“I didn't mean to be disrespectful, it's just... I'm intruding on your work-”

“How much did you read?” he cut in with a smooth voice, picking up the papers to glance over them.

_Way to go, Eva. It's a fantastic gesture to show your appreciation for him saving your hide._

“I didn't read it,” she shrugged, an uncomfortable heat crawling up her neck, “I got distracted with the bold letters.”

“Hmm,” he responded in a light grunt, his strong gaze beheld at the paper's mercy, Eva seeing the barest hint of his brows furrowing.

Yeah, it was time for her to go.

“Um, where are my shoes-”

He held out the paper to her then, Eva staring with widened eyes at the offering, reaching timid fingers out to take them.

In short, Professor Griffon made it very clear of his hatred towards Sparda, making sure the History dean knew of his intentions to cause harm to him and anyone he cared about with his disrespect to the chancellor. Specifically, the words annihilate, gouge, violence, dishonor, and sever fluttered her heart with disbelief, wondering why Mr. Griffon spoke with such malevolence. Perhaps she didn't realize how grave the situation at the school escalated to?

“At least he was nice enough to write a letter,” Sparda mentioned, sarcasm dripping from his every word.

“How,” she started, licking her lips then swallowing, “Why would he say something like this to you?” Carolinas looked upon his white blues with a becoming concern, unease beginning to pit inside her gut.

“He hangs on the chancellor's every word; his visions, his ideals, his goals... everything you can imagine. I do not share his inept views and I have challenged his lack of common sense. Though, it seems I have angered him beyond reason.”

“So, a small disagreement led to him wanting to-” she glanced at the paper again, “-annihilate you? Isn't that a bit extreme?”

Sparda took a deep inhale. “I'm afraid the details are much more severe than that.”

Her eyebrows rose, mouth falling slightly ajar when his words settled, unable to look away from him until he took the papers back.

“I wanted you to read this so you can see how vile his character is. It would ease my nerves if you avoided him at all costs.”

“You don't have to tell me twice. I don't know what it is, but some staff members are getting too comfortable with themselves.”

A solemn quirk graced his lips, moving to clean up the area at the end of the table. Eva, intrigued and troubled by this revelation, wanted to gain a deeper insight on the current status of his and the chancellor's issues, if it remained so. People had a knack to exaggerate with the gossip and rumors, stretching the truth to spice up the story to their liking.

“Is there anyone else I should run away from?”

“May I advise against running, as childish as they love to act, they might take it as sport,” he said, turning on the faucet to wash out his teacup, “I presume you have heard about Professor Wulf and his misconduct towards the students?”

Eva nodded, moving to sit down in the chair.

“He does not share a fondness for me-”

Windows breaking cut his conversation short, the blonde starting from her spot with a jump, her heart feeling to skip a beat. Faster than she could whip her head Sparda left the kitchen, telling her to stay put.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

The echo sounded close from the room he just left, Eva standing up to walk over by the impressive cutlery in case a robbery ensued... or maybe someone played a vicious prank? It wasn't uncommon for a disgruntled student to damage property of a professor they weren't fond of.

“Are you all right in there?” she called out to the dean, hearing no voices or even the soft patter of feet. The birds outside stopped squawking about, leaving her alone with her breathing.

Something akin to rustling chains clinked in the hallway, assuming the dean walked in with objects to fix the window.

“Is everything okay? Who was childish enough to break...”

Her question died in her throat, feeling her body lock up upon seeing two lean males with spiked-out mouth masks standing before her. A cold chill skittered down her back, unable to think of any action, mind blanking over to nothingness. Both donned black clothing, platinum blonde hair (both styled in buzz cuts), and dark brown eyes with sinister intent, looking to cause harm. Large industrial chains hung from their necks, completing their rogue, militant appearance.

Faster than she could jostle her muscles to react, fist-sized gray cylinders flew at her, bursting upon touching her skin. A pungent odor of rotting flesh and fecal matter assaulted her nostrils, blinding her eyesight and tightening her throat.

“Eva!” Sparda called out to her, practically sprinting back into the kitchen, almost recoiling from the rancid smell. Concern and anger shone brightly in his eyes, focused on the twins that have created a pressing annoyance in his mind for the past three weeks. True to the cowardly ways of their leader, they fled as soon as they saw him, the distinct sounds of the signature chains they wore rattling away.

It was an increasing and problematic issue springing forth, coming home to find damage to his property and his house broken into thanks to the glorified faculty fellow, Bolverk. Despite erecting security measures, it deterred them from their goal, seeing how they now broke in via the window.

Two opposing ideals waged inside him, deadlocked between chasing after the delinquents and ensuring Eva's safety. The depravity in which Bolverk sunk to will never seek forgiveness from him, endangering the lives of others just to enact harm upon him, by and through any means.

Shattered glass reached his ears, hearing those chains being put to use, trashing up his abode on their way out. Through a harsh coughing fit, Eva strained a yell for him to go after them, blindly fumbling around to get to the sink. If the odorous stench neglected treatment, it can cause ailing side effects he did not wish to see happen; which might occur if he hesitated any longer.

“Take the soiled clothes off and run the warm water for your eyes,” he stated in a controlled voice, gently pushing her over to the sink, then running out of the kitchen to trail after those hooligans.

S-s-S-s-S

Bolverk the Cruel provided a fitting moniker he built his reputation up to be, using people to edge closer to his revolting gains, eliminating those he considered a threat to his intellect. A proud man who loathed defiance and criticism to whomever harbored complaints against his person, he held quite the notoriety for embracing his shrewd nature.

Back on Sparda's quest to becoming a dean, there were few who could match his wits and acumen, drawing praise from few and ire from many. Bolverk, with his quick temper and devious mindset, remained one of his heaviest detractors, purposely antagonizing and challenging him to prove that _he_ was the better man overall.

Deft fingers quickly undid the intricate latches to his armory, retrieving his trusted firearms to take with him, sealing the gun case as swiftly as he opened it. Their footsteps grew faint, though able to follow their tracks thanks in part to their destructive exit.

“Where are you ravenous dogs,” a hollow, dark snarl eased through his lips, half-jogging in silent steps, seeing the shattered pieces to his ornate vases and glass lamps littering the floor. The debris led him to the other side of his home, viewing the open double doors to his grand, Victorian-era study room.

Standing next to his Agarwood desk was Geri, swinging his chain around, lax in his stance. His elder twin, Freki, had not crossed his sight, mind going back to Eva and her unguarded position. How bold and incredibly foolish their quest presented, carrying out Bolverk's demands with unwavering loyalty. A loyalty which would end resulting in their trespassing, breaking into, and assaulting the occupants in _his_ home.

A slightly gruff voice spoke, coated with smug bravado. “You have a hard head on your shoulders, man. Bolverk doesn't take kindly to slackers.”

Standing just shy of six feet with a built, muscular structure, he and his twin contributed to the decline of the university's morale; engaging in fisticuffs, assaulting women, and vandalizing personal property. Virile and ravenous personalities surrounded them in infamous auras, having many avoid their presence all together.

How unfortunate that the students will remember the twins in the recesses of their memories.

Geri moved to sit on the edge of the desk, holding an eased expression all the while. “Bolverk wants his heirloom back that you cheated to get. We're not leaving until you hand it over, or we'll tear the place apart until we find it. Your call.”

“Your childish impudence grows tiresome. Vandalizing my home to validate the cowardice of your leader stops here.”

An ancient beverage, supposedly from the yester-years of Germany, became a topic of heated discussion between him and Bolverk. The temperamental man openly challenged Sparda to a duel a few months prior, the winner taking the loser's most prized possession: Sparda's beloved sword or Bolverk's priceless wine (rumored to be stolen anyhow).

A three-round chess match would decide the victor, Bolverk boasting of his vast intellect and his ability to out-wit any opponent. Sparda, feeling rather annoyed by his incessant bravado, let the braggart win the first game. With Sparda's black knight taking Bolverk's white rook in the final round, it created hostile tension between them. Pitted anger flustered the once-vaunting man's personality at the loss, so much so, he shifted to stab him with a hidden and small, spear-shaped knife.

Using the angered man's own momentum against him, Sparda deflected the jab, allowing Bolverk to stumble over his feet and take out his own eye.

“I refuse to believe all this nonsense is over a petty beverage,” his calm voice conveyed nothing, wondering where the twin was, a growing suspicion telling him to go back to Eva.

“It's petty, yet you hold onto it,” the younger twin countered, still swinging the chain around.

“If the drink meant that much to him, he should not have chosen it as an offering.”

Pale blues briefly shifted to a painting behind his desk, seeing the glass covering reflecting movement just shy to his left. Nimble feet side-stepped to his right, letting Freki rush into the room, missing the chance to tackle him to his rear. Geri followed up with a charge of his own, flinging the chain link directly for his head. Holstering his guns in his belt loop, Sparda leaned backwards, catching Geri's wrist and using his forward drive against him, throwing him into the wall.

The elder twin twisted the chains about his body in a sleek flurry of gymnastic grace, calm eyes watching his hands for an opening.

Withdrawing Luce and Ombra again, he flipped them around, utilizing the ends of his pistols instead of outright shooting them, regardless of how much of a nuisance they were. Freki brought his hand down in an arc, Sparda leaning back while grabbing his elbow, using the butt of Ombra to whack him hard across the temple.

Geri finished collecting himself from the hard throw, breath soon escaping his lungs after a swift punch to his abdomen doubled him over.

“Pity about the wall,” Sparda mentioned with absent focus, seeing a dent in the cemented plaster, “I just had that painted a month ago.”

Disgruntled moans conveyed their easy mishandling, Freki's eyes burning vibrant embers of a blazing fire he could never hope to touch him with. While their physical skill set left many in fear at the very mention of them, it lacked the impact to keep their target down, what with their basic habit of roughly tackling their victims to the ground. Though it seems Bolverk has taught them to use those chains as weapons instead of an awful fashion statement.

In fact, he perhaps had use for the items himself.

Taking the chain hanging from the younger brother's neck, he caught the sounds of Freki rushing towards him, instinct barely making him shift his stance. The chain the dean held wrapped over the elder's left wrist, looping the rest around his throat to suffocate him, the boy unable to do nothing anything but flail his limbs, Sparda ensuring he listened to his final warning. A well-polished shoe stomped its residence on top of Geri's head, keeping him pressed into the ground.

“This is your last time _breathing_ in my house,” he emphasized his point by pulling the metal links tighter, Freki choking with excessive coughs, “You will not be able to witness the consequences should you ignore my words.”

A frosted tone left little room for argument, pressing his foot harder to see Geri squirm, releasing a pained groan.

How pathetic for this situation to escalate to these ignorant levels, all over a supposed ancient bottle coated with rumors of not being rightfully Bolverk's. From poisoning his decorated rose garden with bleach to busting all his lower windows with tear gas, their attacks spoke of the cowardice they would stoop to... over a damnable drink.

“Enacting your childish tendencies upon my dwelling is one matter, but you willingly attacked an innocent woman.”

Deep discontent swelled inside him like a hot balloon, the reason eluding him over his desire to send them off without a permanent, physical reminder to never step foot in his direction again. However, being the honorary man he abided by, he felt it better to confront the source of this charade, focusing on the main assailant responsible.

“Avoid my words as mere empty threats and you shall come to know my wrath like no other,” he growled in veiled antipathy, his mind urging him to go to the hard, choking sounds on the other side of the house. Reaching down, he coiled his hand around Freki's chain, removing the ill-worn fashion statement to curl it around Geri's neck, tightening his throat after he hauled him up by it, moving them through the door.

The elder twin had all but lost consciousness, his swelled face donning a light, lilac color, darkening as Sparda dragged his nearly limp physique along. He dared not slow down to offer them a reprieve to breathe, wanting to rid their presence, figuring out a way to curb their violent ways with force.

In a guest room up another set of stairs, cream tapered drapes billowed in the daylight wind, leading to a balcony fitted with a wicker patio set, overlooking the vibrant sycamore trees swaying lightly in the breeze.

“Beautiful morning, isn't it?” Firm hands dragged the twins to the balcony, looking down at the cut, dark green grass. What little he could salvage from his dead roses stretched out before him, believing they should appreciate its healthy foundation after the turmoil they forced upon it... at a closer angle.

“Tell Bolverk I'll be seeing him shortly. We have _much_ to discuss.”

Unwrapping the chains with an expert flick of his wrists, he grabbed them by the scruff of their necks, lifting them over the railing in each of his hands. He felt them dangle, squirming their legs backwards to seek the banister, soon dropping them without a care.

They plopped down to the ground, Freki too slow in his reflexes and landed on his chest, as Geri fell on his side, hopefully fracturing or breaking an arm. Though the fall wasn't that high, their disoriented minds lacked the sense to brace themselves on their feet.

With a dismissive grunt, he set the two chains on the chair, doing a mental checklist on the items he needed to rid the pungent odors correctly. He hoped Eva suffered no damaging effects from the harmful stench he could smell on himself, even now.

* * *

 

Stressed lungs wanted to vacate its setting and shoot out from her mouth, spending the last five minutes trying to rid of the acrid aroma inside her senses.

“Did we travel back in time to middle school for stink bombs?” she gritted through her teeth, eyes leaking watery trails to lessen the sting attacking her sight without mercy. While rancid odors of the immature prank carried a rotten egg aroma to it, _this_ concoction carried a familiar funk she had the misfortune to experience; frolicking out in a vast field of dandelions at nine years old, accidentally startling a certain black animal with white stripes.

Barely able to glance across the counter, two small tomatoes (must have been leftovers from the breakfast) sat whole and unused, Eva grabbing them in haste then digging her fingers into its flesh to fashion a crude opening. Light tendrils of a fleshy, dirt smell tickled her nostrils when she rubbed the juicy contents to rid of the stench faster.

“Eva!” she heard the dean say, making a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. The stink had crept into the living room, intent to spread its claim; leaving him with a mounting task to clean out the smell, but to help Eva as well.

By preventing her from using any more of his foods to wipe the odors away.

Red-tinged eyes glanced upon an arched, silver eyebrow, seeing Sparda's mouth fall slightly ajar, stopped dead in his tracks to assess her outlook. Thick, gelatinous pieces of tomato slid down her face, the juice staining her cheeks to mimic the vegetable's natural hue. If she didn't resume a vicious coughing fit, his jaw probably would have unhinged to the floor.

Is there something wrong with what she did? Back then, she double-bathed in tomato juice just to get the stench out. Would it be too much to ask if he had the soupy-like liquid on hand? He seemed the type to make his own naturally.

“Come with me, Eva,” Sparda ushered her away to a close bathroom, opening up a sliding window so the smell wouldn't accumulate once inside. He grabbed a thick, black terry robe and placed it on a sandy-brown double vanity. Two white towels once underneath the vanity sat beside the robe, Sparda already leaving the room to gather the required materials.

“It is vital that you take off the tainted clothes so we can clean the odors thoroughly.” He halted just outside the door, taking one more glance at her red-tinted face, thick tomato chunks splotching her pleasant features. In that moment, she held the comical appearance of a child who had discovered her mother's makeup collection, not quite knowing where the blush went. “I will return shortly.”

Eva waited until the door closed, quickly disrobing from the foul-smelling garments, pondering on whether she should discard her undergarments too, but she _felt_ the liquid seep on through to her skin. Slim fingers went to reach for a towel when her eyes caught sight of her reflection, a cross look shifting into horror over her idiotic visage.

_Wow. Smooth. I'm sure he doesn't think you're crazy now._

“I thought I was...jeez, I didn't know I looked this silly!”

Running water sloshed onto her face from the timber glass vessel sink, soon fanning her hands to air-dry her face.

Carolinas scoured the tastefully decorated bathroom. In a niggling feeling she couldn't explain, it seemed like her presence here sullied the pristine ambiance coating his entire home, like she didn't belong here. Partially, the sentiment rang true. If she hadn't bowed under a drunken stupor, none of this would have happened to her.

Well, a hard lesson she learned from this, taking a small oath to consume alcohol in the confines of her home from now on, should the need arise.

Honestly, how embarrassing is it to have to fold her underwear inside her dress _at_ the dean's house?

A thick, white towel wrapped around her form, practically having to wrap it twice because of its length. She didn't want to ruin the robe, much less the towel, but if he'd let her use it after she cleaned off, why infect it with this odorous stench instead of reveling in the light, woodsy scent it carried in the bathroom?

“Eva?” she heard him knock, taking a deep breath to steady the notion that she's naked, but the funky aroma seeped into her lungs, inducing a dry hacking fit again.

“Come in!”

Sparda stepped into the room, heading straight to a small glass table to set down baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, and a big, rectangular brown bar of soap. He had rid himself of his dark purple waistcoat, leaving him in black slacks and his buttoned up white shirt, rolled up to his forearms. His tailored clothes fit him well. Well enough to oogle at his backside before turning her head away in shame.

He turned to her then, concerned eyes focused on her face with lips set into a grim line. The barest hint of a subtle hunch showed in his stance, large palms fisted at his sides.

Thick fingers moved to the large, spa-like tub, turning the knob to fill it up with running water. “I cannot begin to fathom an apology adequate enough to justify what has happened here today,” Sparda spoke, Eva thinking he did well not to gag at the smell, “Rest assured, those boys will never touch you again.”

As in... he wanted to bathe her as a form of an apology?

Her mouth opened to ask if he intended to assist her when a violent cough rattled in her throat, dry heaving from the scent reaching a potent high. Prior to gaining her bearings, weightlessness controlled her body prior to feeling warm water swallow her up to her calves. Liquid sloshed on her upper left arm, Sparda reaching for the common household items to mix them.

It hurt to breathe, pinpricks stabbing her throat and lungs every time she inhaled. At this point, humility wanted to take a back seat, letting her immodesty take the reigns by removing the towel, as long as this funk disappeared!

Her voice strained between coughs.“No tomato juice?”

“Oh, that's what you were doing,” he muttered, sounding like he held his breath, “I initially assumed you were still hungry, however I remembered the home remedy. It would have only provided temporary relief though.”

He had moved to her left side, mixing the two ingredients then rubbing it over her arm in diligent strokes.

“I do remember me bathing three times with the tomato juice when I was younger,” a short string of powerful coughs interrupted her, turning her face into the better-smelling arm he just cleaned, “The smell wanted to tattoo itself into my skin.”

He glanced at her, surprised. “You've been through this before?”

Eva nodded, the water now up to her knees.

“It does remedy the odor for a while, however it would come back like perfume masking body odor. The stink will not go away until the source is cleaned.”

Her right hand wrapped around her throat, feeling how sore it became with the forced choking. Sparda guided her to sit down on the tub's ledge, Eva mindful to keep her legs pressed together, replacing humility back in its rightful seat.

“This is completely unacceptable,” he spoke, more of the pasty substance spreading to her shoulder blades, “They will not go unpunished for their actions.”

“Something tells me this isn't your first rodeo with them,” Eva uttered, her voice harboring a noticeable rasp.

“All that matters is that this will be their last chance to enact such cowardice upon my person.”

His thick palms cupped some of the water, running it down her shoulders and arms, the absorbent towel soaking up the liquid yet she remained dry. It was a comfortable silence then, Sparda wiping the paste everywhere she had exposed skin, leaving the smelliest area that needed cleaning under wraps.

No longer did the odor tighten their throats or insult their nostrils, much; Sparda sensing Eva's reluctance to clean the rest of herself with him present.

“As fun as home remedies are, some are not as effective as others.” He brought the baking soda and peroxide over and placed it on the vanity, walking to his built-in wall-unit to grab extra towels. “If you copy my actions, the smell should lessen considerably.”

Carolinas witnessed wet spots on his shirt and pants, seeing the fabric cling to his skin, taut muscles peeking through the loosened buttons. A dry swallow threatened to further irritate her throat, giving a gracious nod after he retrieved the bar of soap from the table and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, letting his warm hospitality and generous attention flood through her. It was more than she deserved, unwillingly sucked into school drama she tried her best to avoid. His small rescue inside the club, on the sidewalk, and from the physical onslaught created a heavy I.O.U she held no clue how to pay him back with. If she could do anything to make this right, all he had to do is tell her.

“I believe I should be thanking you, Eva,” he interjected, moving over to her clothes to pick them up, ignoring the embarrassed look she sported, “Without your bravery, I would not have saved you or my home from unnecessary damage.”

“Oh, it wasn't me at all!” A swelling, bubbly tingle fluttered in her stomach, heat crawling up her cheeks of him mentioning the well-being of his home placed _after_ her. “Anyone would do anything to protect their home. My situation isn't life-threatening... just really smelly-”

“And no less important than if you were bodily harmed. Those degenerates invaded _my_ house, and they will answer for their actions.”

Eva watched him grab something from under the bathroom cabinet, clearly seeing his twin pistols tucked into the belt of his pants. From her memory, she heard no gunshot blasting, though of the limits he would take for protective measures both eased and startled her. It garnered a natural response to guard intruders from one's home yes, yet what those boys did wouldn't require the use of firearms, would it? Perhaps there lied more to this story than she originally thought.

“I will leave you in peace,” he gestured to her clothes, “It is best if these were dry-cleaned.”

Her thoughts traveled to her underwear that he'd have to sort out. “Oh, that's no trouble, I can wash them with me...” Okay, maybe not the best idea. She can easily wash the funk off her skin, but getting those odors _out_ of those clothes?

“It will be no trouble at all. My two attendants should arrive here shortly to take my articles to the cleaners as well. Do not worry, they are-” Sparda paused, Eva assuming he searched for a substitute word instead of saying the one he went with, yet he decided to come clean “-a distraction to themselves. They follow my requests without fault, but after that, well, all bets are off.” He smirked then, leaving Eva to her bathing.

Throwing the towel off of her as soon as the door closed, the acrid scent renewed in strength, Eva quickly mixing the solvents and rubbing it all over her torso. She dipped inside the spacious tub to wash the paste away, only to reapply it to herself. The ends of her hair needed the special mix to kill the odor, careful not to lighten her natural, pale daffodil locks by mistake.

The drain sucked up the dirtied water, Eva turning the nozzles to fill up the tub halfway. With the pungent stink gone, save for the towel she removed from herself, she could breathe easier, annoyance growing over her throat remaining tender. A light, oatmeal-scented bar ran in smooth trails all over her body, reveling in the relaxing effect it had on her.

Not so soothing on the thoughts provided her lack of attire. It seemed foolish to ask if he had clothes that could fit her, asking for his didn't even cross her mind. However, dry-cleaning usually lasted an hour. Would it be so bad to wait here until her dress, and undergarments, get cleaned up?

After toweling off, she wrapped herself in the thick robe, drying off her hair with the extra towels set aside. Opening the bathroom door, she heard dishes clattering in the kitchen, taking slow steps forward when another voice filtered through her hearing. Something told her to head back to the bathroom, to wait a little longer until he finished his conversation, but the topic commanded her ears to stay.

“This ends now,” she heard Sparda say with a tone of finality, hearing a particular dish slam hard into the sink. “What they have done calls for more than just petty excuses. Bolverk has overstayed his courtesy in my presence, and his reign of reckless foolery stops tomorrow.”

Another voice spoke, sounding incredibly young, having the dialect of someone who grew up near a beach.

“Pray tell, my dear Sparda, that you will do more than rant and rage about his attitude, this calls for more than civility.”

Sparda scoffed. “There is no need to resort to fisticuffs, that would only exacerbate the situation.”

A loud, wet crunch echoed in the kitchen before the second man resumed talking. “Don't you think that is part of the reason he's so fidgety? You made him lose an eye, after all. It's the classic case of vengeance: You hurt something of mines, I'll make you suffer twice as badly.”

“By sending his inept minions to irritate me with childish pranks?”

“Consider that a warm-up to what he has the potential to do. Men like him are all about show and tell, needing an audience to see how great he is. You challenged that.”

“ _He_ proposed the challenge,” Sparda countered.

“You _won_ the challenge... along with his eye.”

“I take no fault in protecting myself. No one can blame my actions on the incident, he was clearly the aggressor.”

“Sure he was,” the mystery man said, Eva hearing the man take another bite out of something.

“And what are you insinuating, Alastor?”

_Oh, that's who he's talking to? The astrology professor?_

“Come now, Sparda. I was there that day. How you trumped him so easily during the second chess round, only to follow up with that crafty win. You basked in his anger, didn't you?”

Alastor's expectant grin revealed itself in his words, waiting on Sparda to gloat about Bolverk's loss; to revel in the disappointing and bitter sentiments the braggart kept bottled inside. Alastor thrived on concepts and practicalities of vengeance, fascinated with the lengths people will go through to harm those who have wronged them.

For as long as he knew him, despite his youthful tenure, Sparda knew when to draw the line when fraternizing overstepped professionalism.

“Whatever issues are occurring between me and him will reach a conclusion tomorrow. I do not need your commentary on the decisions I make if they are without constructive criticism,” Sparda's clear and concise voice spoke with an underlined and stern tone.

“Fine, fine. I can take a hint," he mumbled with food in his mouth, shuffling closer to the other side of the kitchen, “I'd hate to be the one to clean the smell out. Well, at least you can take your mind off the task-by reading my proposed budget afterwards. Ciao now!”

“What budget, Alastor?" Sparda demanded, looking away from the skunk bomb's broken remnants to the astrology professor's retreating form. Not four months ago, he approved a field trip to Europe for Alastor's academic lectures. This would mark his eighth monetary proposal. For what purpose would he need more financial transgressions?

Eva fought with herself between going back to the bathroom and walking into the kitchen, pretending that she didn't hear the conversation. She had no personal leeway to say anything about Alastor, but some of her peers mentioned how... excited he became upon the topics of vengeance. His stories dealing with karma sometimes took over his lectures, explaining detailed escapades on the acts of “getting even.”

“I wonder if Eva is coming along just fine?”

Widened eyes expressed her becoming horror after a violent tingle harassed her nostrils, the sneeze unexpectedly releasing without her consent, giving away her location.

A trembling hand covered her mouth, her body locking up for several seconds, her brain unaware of which action she should proceed with next.

“Oh Miss Redgrave," Sparda's voice crooned, Eva wincing because this counted as the third time he caught her snooping, “I believe it is a swell time to have a chat, would you not agree?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I think there's a balance to maintain with Sparda. Since he's so gentleman-like, I gotta make him a bit of a masochist when it comes to fighting :D Also, I have this headcanon that he's like...a master chef. It just seems...so him.
> 
> Personifying the characters are a pain, but fun, since there's literally nothing to go by with them being human. I mean there are interpretations of them if they are historical figures, but they don't capture me. So I gave Ferki and Geri (don't know who's older so I randomly picked one to make him older) the same style... or tried to come up with one for them. And I took some liberties with the 'Mead of Poetry' story to make it 'fit' in here, so check that out when you have time.
> 
> So...when I researched more on Alastor, it said that he was a god of vengeance, and that Zeus used him to enact discipline on his foes...and then Viewtiful Joe came along :D
> 
> P.S. I know you all have seen:  
> (1) The Dante vs Deadpool death battle, (and its alternate [true] ending)  
> (2) The Dante vs Bayonetta Death battle (and the Jeanne vs Trish after battle)  
> (3) The motion capture picture with Reuben Langdon/Johnny Bosch for a possible DMC5?
> 
> If not, then get to looking at them!


End file.
